Poems by Sanjeev Sethi

Hyphens of hate criss-cross with apostrophes of
animosity to create a pastiche of uncertainities
and sureties: the gone had rib cages like
you and me. They lacked our luck — or ill luck.
When scops are sidelined and couturiers grace
the glossies, when tonsure artists are billed
higher than bards, it’s a malice graver than
managing the media.

(2)

Firecrackers stowed in the mind’s fuselage miss
embers of empathy. In the safety of my cauldron,
I simmer like onions in a wok on a salamander.
Secrets are stenciled. This routine of roneo dares
to dox. I splay a collage with lines that leaven me.
On paper I meet my shrink.

Iridule

The rainbow has riddles.
Some fine answers,
and an echo too.
One needs an ear
to hear their hymns.
This will set you
free from fog.

Your gaze will grasp
the longing on their lips,
and accept this recent
bluster as the sing-song
blitz of the beleaguered.

You eluded auscultating
the storm in their center.
Some claps are now closed.
These grip their grief.

Linkages

Inebriated, one gybes
on other coasts, like
media outlets that obfuscate
the rut of those affiliated
through ponzi or suchlike
schemes. Now I know
why I was hooked on
to TV bulletins with
my swigs in the years
I drank to darkness.

Sanjeev Sethi is a poet from Mumbai. This Summer and That Summer is his third and latest book of poems.